


Who are Sherlock Holmes and John Watson ?

by sherlockrequiem



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Fandom, M/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-13
Updated: 2015-08-13
Packaged: 2018-04-14 00:33:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4543353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlockrequiem/pseuds/sherlockrequiem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This story has been told so many times. It’s always different. It’s always the same. When Sherlock Holmes appears, John Watson appears too. When Sherlock Holmes disappears, John Watson disappears too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Who are Sherlock Holmes and John Watson ?

**_Who are Sherlock Holmes and John Watson ?_ **  


That is a question you might find yourself struggling with one of these days. Of course, you probably think it unlikely: you’re not really into detective stories, and especially not those from the 19th century. You’ve heard about the so-called great detective who spends his time bent over some invisible mark/stain/dirt/hair, smoking a pipe, and saying “Elementary, my dear Watson”. It's obsolete. Tiresome. Really, there is no reason for you to ever wonder who Sherlock Holmes and John Watson are.  
I understand, I really do. After all, the story you’re describing doesn’t seem very exciting. But you see, that’s the whole point: the story of John Watson and Sherlock Holmes is nothing you think it is.  
Just let me tell you about them. Then come and tell me they are not captivating.

 

They have been walking around London since 1887. They appeared one day like ghosts walking out of the fog to be baptized by the cold light of a January morning. For a moment, they were apart, wandering aimlessly in the city, alone. Or so they thought, since they were meant to meet almost immediately. You see, this is the first important thing you have to realize: Sherlock Holmes and John Watson can’t exist without each other. They barely have time to be brought into the world before they come crashing into each other, binding themselves together for all eternity. It only takes Sherlock Holmes to say “Afghanistan” and John Watson looks up to him, startled, hesitant, amazed that someone can take a look at him and understand. Understand the depth of his despair, his need for companionship, his longing for adventure. It only takes John Watson to slightly grin for Sherlock Holmes to find himself embarrassed which he never is, and intrigued which he didn’t expect to be. Sherlock Holmes, who sees more than John Watson, catches a glimpse of the future they will have together. Or rather of all the possible futures they might have. He understands from the first moment that John Watson and himself will become a tandem unequalled, admired, remembered.  
John Watson writes about Sherlock Holmes’ work. Without John Watson, Sherlock Holmes is a mad man in a funny suit with strange obsessions. Without Sherlock Holmes, John Watson is an ordinary man, with a boring life and no dream at all. Together, they become the heroes of their own story; they bring each other to life, to light, to hope. It’s a thing that will never change, something we can rely on, it happens over and over: Sherlock and John meet everywhere, every time, and they always decide to go on an adventure together.

But then what, you’ll ask. They are well matched, all right. But they still run around making ludicrous deductions. It’s still dull, you’ll say. But this is where you’re wrong. There’s nothing dull about it. There’s nothing dull about love.  
Don’t give me that look. Love? Yes, why not. Forget about the detective part. Think of these two men. Love, of course. Don’t be afraid of the word. Love is so many things… from the fleeting warm sensation in one’s chest when passing by a graceful face, to the perpetual and insatiable longing for one’s lovers, to the loyal fondness for one’s family and friends. I will not tell you what kind of love unites John and Sherlock. It is for you to decide, it is for you to make them friends or lovers. They are a story, you are a reader: much to Sherlock’s regret, it is you who has the last word. But you owe it to yourself to make it the best story possible. Detectives are great, I won’t object to that, but don’t you want Sherlock and John to be more than that? Don’t you want them to have a greater adventure, with a bit more than curiosity (beginning of a case), excitement and fear (during a case), satisfaction (after a case), and endless boredom in between? Make them happy and sad, hopeful and distressed, gentle and angry, make them hard, make them silly, make them right and wrong, make them hurt and forgiving. Don’t let them be heroes. Make them human.

 

I’ll show you again.

 

They move in together at 221B Baker Street. John brings with him the consistency of military life, the thoughtfulness of a doctor, the warmth of tea, the bright music of his laughter. Sherlock makes space for him, which he had never done for anyone before and invites him into a life of brilliance, chaos, euphoria.  
John follows Sherlock to the gloomiest parts of London in the moonlight. Sherlock follows John back home in the sunlight. They build their own rhythm, sharing their frailties and their strength to catch criminals or sometimes, when it feels right, to let them go; to go through daily life or sometimes, when it’s needed, to forget about it. They run side by side, saving each other so many times and in so many ways.

Sherlock dies. Only two years later will John learn that he wasn’t really dead, that the corpse was fake, that Sherlock was hiding. These two years are like a crack in Sherlock Holmes and John Watson’s story. What happens during these long months when they are so far apart from each other? What happens when the relationship between them, which is the core of this story, is broken? What is the meaning of these two men when torn apart? It’s painful to imagine, but it’s tolerable because we know Sherlock will always come back to John. John is always there, waiting for him. Sometimes John resists against the force that is pushing him back to Sherlock. It is the way it is. It will always be the story of these two men. John Watson can move away, marry, have children, but it is still about him and Sherlock. Nothing separates them. Not even death. Death is erased so that they can be together again.

This story has been told so many times. It’s always different. It’s always the same. When Sherlock Holmes appears, John Watson appears too. When Sherlock Holmes disappears, John Watson disappears too. Sherlock lives means John lives.

 

At one point something happens. It doesn’t matter where or when or even why. It just does.  
Sherlock Holmes and John Watson kiss.

They are standing in the middle of the world, facing each other. They carry with them the heavy memories of all the cracks, shadows, falls of their story. The weight of what they failed to say. The terror of seeing the end of this, the end of them, hovering over them, wrapping them in a cloak of thick vibrating air. They are close but they are not touching yet. Although somehow they are anchored to one another, connected by this inexplicable force that brought them together in the first place. Two characters face-to-face on the edge of fiction, almost alive, standing up to generations of readers for over a century; and someone somewhere frees them by making them look into each other’s eyes and find love there.  
Sherlock Holmes gasps. What else would you expect from a man who had turned his back to sentiment and suddenly finds out that his entire life is driven by the very idea that John Watson exists? John Watson parts his lips in wonder and distress. Distress because he is afraid to reach out to Sherlock only to see him fall again, wonder because he feels the burning desire and unfailing tenderness radiating from Sherlock’s body. They’re still not touching but they get closer, inch by inch, slowly. Why rush? They have the rest of eternity for themselves. They will kiss eventually. They will get there, everybody knows. Let them be together-but-not-quite for a bit longer. Let them chase cars and cabs and trains, let them wade in the Thames, run through the countryside, crawl on the roofs, let them punch and strike and shoot, let them be hurt and choked and cut, let them save each other. Think of them hiding behind a bush, at a restaurant table, disguised as policemen, clergymen, lovers, think of them as the sun rises and as the rain falls. Imagine the burst in Sherlock’s stomach when he understands that John kills for him, the anger boiling under John’s skin when Sherlock gets cold and obstinate, the crater Sherlock makes under John’s feet when Reichenbach makes him fall. Listen to the soft sounds of their hands brushing, of their hearts twitching, of their eyes lingering, listen to John cry after Sherlock dies, listen to their moans at night when they dream about each other, look at the plane. The plane that takes Sherlock away, the plane that brings him back. Think of this precise moment, when the plane turns around. And then when it lands. And then when Sherlock stands once again on his feet next to John Watson.

 

They’re so close now, can you feel it? Can you feel your heart beat along with theirs, can you feel their breaths on your lips? They’ve waited for so long; so did you. They are two parallel lines that have been progressing side by side for decades. They are about to merge together. What happens then when the progress of Sherlock Holmes and the progress of John Watson become one? What happens to the story? Where will the sparks come from once they finally give in and embrace each other? They are falling for each other. They are falling with each other. Once, Sherlock fell by himself and it wasn’t right but now, now they both fall, intertwined, as they were always meant to, and you fall with them, and you see then why they matter.

Time, space, everything scatters. They are so afraid; they don’t know how it will be once the kiss will be shared, once the bed, the bodies, the love, the delight. You are so afraid, I’m so afraid too, I’m always afraid at this point because this is where everything ends and everything begins. Their bodies are aligned, their hips, chests, shoulders pressed lightly, warmth expanding up and down their bodies, spiraling inside them. Nothing remains but these two bodies longing for each other. Nothing else matters anymore and suddenly, John and Sherlock exist everywhere all the time. They are boys texting each other, old men in a Sussex cottage, actors in Hollywood, soldiers in Afghanistan, creatures from old stories, creatures from new planets. They are women. They are teenagers. They are men kept apart by a woman who is sometimes kind, sometimes murderous. They are shy beginners and lustful veterans. They are practical and passionate. They are longing, pining, craving. They wait.  
They wait for each other for decades, confined in a world frightened by their love. They wait for each other for years, immobilized by the fear of rejection. They wait for each other for weeks, concerned that rushing it would ruin it. They wait for each other forever.

 

But then  
Then they kiss.

 

The world shifts. Theirs. Yours. As their lips meet, and their breathing matches up, and their tongues tangle, and their hands reach out, as they melt into each other, the world shifts. Time and space pull themselves back together. 221B Baker Street reappears. John feels his desire growing and he presses it against Sherlock’s thigh. Sherlock groans and slides his hands down John’s back. This is it. Love will overwhelm them, in its purest form. Naked, breathless, intense; together. The first time John Watson and Sherlock Holmes make love is always magnificent. Because of the waiting. Because of the inevitability. Because after all that has been said, the physical union of their bodies is the zenith of Love. Most importantly, it’s magnificent because of all the people John Watson and Sherlock Holmes are, because of all the stories they are a part of. They walk with your legs, they kiss with your lips, you dream with their hearts.

 

It is not dull, is it? It’s the most beautiful story ever told. Two people, how they meet, how they wait, how they love.  
Now remember. I promised that you would wonder who Sherlock and John are. Well go ahead. Are they you? Are you them? Which? Both? How? What happens? Think about it. Tell the story. Tell your story of Sherlock Holmes and John Watson.

We’ll be waiting. We always do.

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to @hudders-and-hiddles and @cupidford who helped me improve this first sort-of-fic of mine !! I dedicate it to them wholeheartedly. More generally, this is a tribute to fans and fanfiction writers by whom I am endlessly amazed. Your creativity is so inspiring. The fact that it has been going on for more than a century is my favourite thing about it all.  
> This is also adressed to non-fans and non-johnlockers, altough I doubt that it will ever reach any of you. If it does, consider this an invitation to join us, and a friendly one. Can I venture to say this is some kind of anti-wank-meta-fic ? Probably not, but there you go.  
> Thank you for reading and thank you for writing.
> 
>  


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